TOXIC SABOTAGE

Dear 2.10,
How do you do this? Pull the plugs and cross the wires on every good thing I have going? You're a tactical marvel when it comes to timing. All better for awhile? Quick hit and run tide your ego over for bit? How long you suppose you’re good for? ‘Cuz see I could use a heads up. You are death to me. I know when everything in me broke. I remember it. Snapped beyond repair; my head, my heart, and my health. I remember, clearly, it going over the edge under the weight of your use. You are sick to do that over and over and over again. You know what you do and you do it anyway and you’d do it again tomorrow. Your lack of character is off the charts. You are a colossally twisted bottom feeding sub-human being. My disbelief disbelieves the level of my disbelief. All the kings’ horses and all the kings’ men are useless now. All I hope is that when what’s eating me up wins you’re presented copies of this graced with indelible ink. A little non-fiction to fill your emptiness. Light up and read away.

CONGRATS CHAMP

Dear 2.10,
My pity for you trumps anger (which is not to suggest that dependencies and addictions are ever a blank check for malice and adolescence). Do you plan this out? Or is it just spontaneously dysfunctional genius? It just seems so methodical. It eats at me everyday - what is that, to wipe your conscience clean so you can do it some more as detatched as adding money to a pre-paid calling card? Your morbid unprincipled ego needs a leg up out of a suicidal abyss so you make contact with me to confirm what you already know - to have me humbly and honestly admit that I love and miss you every single day? You of course claim the same. And then, two short weeks and three conversations later, so that there's no mistake as to my mechanistic though valueless existence in your scheme, you administer what might as well be my own Louisville Slugger to its owners head. My admission was genuine and made under the mistaken guise which I aired to you, that I didn't figure I had anything to lose. But somehow, I don't know how you do it, but you are able to shatter again what's already shattered. A boot to the embedded shards to ensure there's no chance of working themselves free. A rebounding BoBo doll laid out once again. Well congratulations champ - put your gloves over your head and dance around a bit. Your father would be proud.

YOU'RE A PREDATOR

Dear 2.10,
Your actions are the antithesis of your bullshit. What you do speaks so loudly I can’t hear what you say (don’t seethe at me, Emerson wrote that). Why, in any sort of adult exchange anyone needs to recite the remedialities of reciprocity in the context of relationships, I’ve yet to comprehend. People don’t seek out for target people they ‘care’ about. People don’t render people they ‘care’ about expendable. People don’t intermittently resuscitate their decrepit ego by re-destroying these cared about people. You are a poison worse than cancer. Cancer isn’t personal. Its targets, though sometimes predisposed, are random compared to your highly deliberate bulls-eye.

This is nothing short of predatory. Methodical malice is predatory. If it’s voiceless victims you want then just kill them straight away instead of dismembering them, and then dismembering the dismembered. What qualifies a deserving target anyway? Sincerity? A crack in the door? Honest feelings humbled in confidence, the buffet your ego craves, swoops down on, sucks dry and vanishes like some guiltless hit-and-run? WHAT DO YOU GET FROM THAT?

You make choices again and again that maintain your misery. What is there to assume except that you favor the state you curse? This is no accidental disregard. This is consciously orchestrated. Not choosing is a choice. Woe is you? You’ve gotten exactly what you’ve engineered! That’s more than a lot of people can say. Most people are still working towards something, you on the other hand have achieved and excelled! You have created a realm devoid of responsibility and accountability and integrity; god knows they’re taxing, f’ng self-governance and all. Of course you’ve cashed in self-worth and purpose, and any sign of value in the bathroom mirror, but clearly you’ve remained committed to what you favor and have done whatever it takes to perpetuate this existence – that takes determination. It’s damn hard work being more and more miserable over more and more time. A lot of people would’ve given up and caved to meaningfulness long ago. So again – shut the fuck up, you’re a fucking success! Lock and load and off you go.

BOWS, IF ONLY THERE WERE MORE BOWS

Dear 2.10,
I stop. I don't move. Like removing batteries from clocks. Surprise peaceful moments of objectivity. Bows. They sneak up. Not fancy ones, but the cheap multi-color kind out of a plastic bag. Resentless, unemotional, matter-of-fact moments. Things are so obvious when impersonal! Parallel individuals - are losers - and we recognize this. You are quite simply - a loser. Your choices and behaviors define you as a loser regardless of shared proof otherwise. Proof, meaning fact at that time. That moment. Unfortunately all of life is an equation with an equal sign really; it's the sum total at the end of the day that reconciles absolute quality.

Random sneaky moments, bows; recognition possible only after adjusting to the dark. I'd grant complete absolution if you could arrange my life in a bow. The irrational product of my heartache demands you prescribe the secret of your elimination from my head and my heart, and I would gladly forgive backwards forever. It's you that's in there it stands to reason that you would know how to get you out.